She had loved him
by LuckyPenny123
Summary: Contrary to popular opinion, Petunia Dursley had loved her nephew and maybe it wasn't perfect and maybe she didn't do a good enough job but she had. And credit is due where credit is due... Somewhat of a Petunia character study, please read and review!


**A/N: I'm finally back! With another story! It is truly a miracle. This is one I wrote in my mocks week when I should have been revising for French. I would have typed it up sooner but I have had the most crazy few weeks – coursework and mocks and assessments but it's Christmas now, finally, so hopefully I'll be a little more active. And the good news is I have survived the hardest two months of my life so far: moving to Indonesia, doing mocks, and making new friends… ! Yay. **

**So in celebration and because Petunia wouldn't leave me alone, here is the story. **

**Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling, more's the pity…**

**She had loved him**

'She had loved him,' though Petunia Dursley, sinking on to a faded felt sofa, hands gripping a mug of tea, eyes staring at the black and white photo of her nephew in that day's newspaper.

**"****Mass murderer, criminal and compulsive liar. What else will the boy who lived turn out to be?" **Article by Rita Skeeter, journalist extraordinaire and proud survivor of an encounter with no other than Harry Potter-

They had told her it wasn't true, but Petunia couldn't help but wonder, couldn't help but be reminded of those messed up psychopaths muggle newspapers were so fond of. The ones with the traumatic upbringing and a whole string of criminal convictions. Because she had loved him. Harry Potter, her nephew, mass murderer, criminal and liar. But she hadn't shown him and at the end of the day maybe his messed-up-ness was all her fault…

She could remember so clearly that day so many years before. Opening the door for milk and finding a baby on her doorstep instead, a baby with jet-black hair and a lightning shaped scar. She had been shocked; shocked and horrified that Lily was dead, that she'd been left with her kid, that Lily had got that heroic fairytale ending she'd always wished for. But she'd bent down and picked him up and stared, transfixed, at the open green eyes, blinking out at her from pale skin, the same as her own. And then she'd read the crinkled parchment, tears streaming down her face and left the milk on the doorstep and thought, standing there in that cold morning light, that she could love him, could love the boy her sister had left as she'd never loved her sister herself and it would be redemption and freedom and she could-

And then Vernon had come down, face red, holding a crying Dudley with a scowl and he'd looked at her with contempt and muttered something about "those folk being so damn irresponsible" and as she'd struggled to hold one crying infant the other started up and Vernon had left the house in a wash of angry words and slammed doors. And she was angry, angry that Lily had dumped this on her, angry that her perfect life was starting to fall apart.

She'd dumped the boys on the sofa in front of the TV and ignored the fact that her sister was dead and her life a lie and instead focused on unpacking the kitchen utensils in their brand new kitchen and figuring out a way to persuade Vernon that the boy had to stay.

He'd agreed in the end, of course, and later that night as he snored in the other room, Petunia had watched over Harry and Dudley in the small yellow cot, had admired the way Harry scrunched his eyebrows in his sleep, had admired how he gripped Dudley's hand in his own. And she had thought she could love him, she could love him for being the one piece of Lily she was allowed to hold on to.

But it was the little things that annoyed her. The way Harry followed her around on chubby legs, eyes wide open, "Mama" on his lisping lips. The way he watched as she fed Dudley first, without complaint, content to be close to her. The way he relied on her so completely. And she had had enough. Enough of waking up at three in the morning to his watery green eyes, enough of being twenty-five with two babies, enough of Vernon's unsaid glares, enough of sitting in the house all day with nothing but regret and doubt and salty tears.

She had tried to get out. Found a double pram in a posh charity shop, taken the boys to the park, smiled as old ladies simpered over _Harry's_ hair, _Harry's_ eyes and _"oh gosh, isn't he just the cutie. You must be so proud-"_ She had listened as Harry became the angel of the neighborhood, the one mothers smiled at and told their children to befriend. She listened and she smiled until she was sick of it, sick of Harry and his perfect Lily eyes and his perfect James hair, sick of looking at him and seeing them.

Because it was every time, every single time her eyes drifted over him, everytime she closed her eyes with his face on her eyelids. He was James Potter, who walked in to their lives and stole her parents' hearts without even asking, stole them when Vernon had never been able to. He was Lily, with bright green eyes that glowed like magic and being special and unrealized dreams.

Sometimes she thought her life had been one long wish for an unrealized, impossible never-going-to-happen dream. A wish that she had magic, that Lily hadn't left her, that she could be more exciting, more magical, more loved. And so she had tried, tried to get her parents to look at her they way they looked at Lily. And then when that failed she settled for normal and Vernon because he didn't want magic, he wanted a pretty blonde wife and she fit the bill perfectly. And now, now that she had magic and a little bit of Lily she hated it.

And so she vowed to not let the same thing happen to Dudley, her little Dudderkins who was more like her than he thought, who looked at Harry with slight admiration and wanted to play with him all the time. She vowed to not him be the one left behind, to not be the one feeling second best, to not be her. And so she spoiled him rotten, cooed over his chubby cheeks and ignored Lily's eyes staring at her reproachfully. She gave him the best bits of whatever dish she had cooked up and locked Harry in to his cupboard and sat outside it at three in the morning, listening to the sobs of a confused five year old, hating herself and him and Lily. She hadn't asked for this, god damn it, she had asked for normal and mundane and she wanted it, not a broken five year old in an empty closet.

But she had loved him. Loved that he was her piece of Lily, loved that he needed her more than her own son, loved that that he was special. And maybe she was just some kind of control freak, maybe she just loved being needed, maybe she loved, in a narcissistic way, that she was the one in control now, that Lily had died and she had survived and that magic didn't always win. And maybe she cried herself to sleep over such thoughts and ignored the fact that if it was the other way round Lily would have been good and lovely and perfect because she couldn't do this, couldn't watch as Dudley became her-

And that was the heart of the matter. She couldn't let Dudley become her, embittered and unsatisfied with life. She couldn't let Harry be Lily, beautiful and bright. She couldn't let the past repeat itself because it had hurt her once and she wouldn't let it again. And so she ignored thoughts of hurt and anger and focused everything on loving Dudley.

But she had loved him too and there was no denying it and, sitting there on that faded sofa somewhere in Cornwall, she still did. And so she heaved herself up and found the small book Lily had given her when she was twelve, _Hogwarts: A History_ and she took the faded photo from between the pages and picked up a pen.

And one day Harry Potter would open an envelope to find a photo. Two girls, one blonde, one a red head. And maybe their smiles were a bit forced but there were five words on the back and Harry could feel a confused half-smile on his own face.

_I love you. Aunt Petunia._

**Please please please review, it will make me soooo happy! xxxxxx**


End file.
